I was nine that year, and was at camp when the flood came. I was at Camp Woodstock, Woodstock, Conn. The lake rose and filled the cabins on the lakeside, and I can still see the suitcases of campers floating along in the rising water.
The camp had a separate dining hall on a hill. I was in a cabin further from the water. There was a brook that ran between the cabins and the dining hall. It was now a raging river. Every morning the counselors would pick us up, and put us on their backs, and carry us over the raging river to the dining hall side of this brook. After supper the counselors would take us back over the river on their backs, and off we would go to our cabins.
Finally, towards the end of our stay, the water began to recede.